First Class Sex

The train pulled away from the station and began to build up speed. Around the sparsely populated carriage our fellow passengers settled themselves for a long journey. A winter night, cold, moonless and dark painted the carriage windows a pitch black. An apparent void only pierced by the lights of the towns we passed and the occasional signal.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

We too settled for the trip, a long day behind us, another long day ahead.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

The rhythmic rocking of the carriage slowly lulled us to sleep.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum …

… Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum

I drifted towards waking, eyes closed, ears sensing that I was not in my own bed, mind slowly realising that the coarse texture of the fabric against my seat and the unfamiliar smells that pervaded my nostrils meant I was still on the train. I slowly opened my eyes, blinded by the dimmed lighting in the carriage, to find I was the only one awake.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

My thought processes increasing in speed with each waking breath an accelerating mass of neural energy, a Shinkansen of thoughts and ideas.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

She was beside me, slumped in her window seat. I reached across and slid my hand across her chest feeling her soft mounds. She stirred, making sounds I recognised from many nights sleeping by her side. A sigh, a half-spoken word. My name? Maybe.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

My hand travelled southward to the waistband of her jeans, flipping open the button, sliding down the zip. I delved inside. She stirred again, I waited.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

My explorations went further, deep into the neatly trimmed hair of her mons, seeking out her delicate, soft, moist slit with a single finger. It was all I could manage in the confines of her panties and tight jeans.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

Her clitoris was alive. The movements of my middle finger soliciting moans from her. A soft, semi-conscious, lament escaping from her lips like a gentle zephyr. My finger worked deftly, knowing her well. Her hips rose pushing her mons against me.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

Her eyes slowly opened. Her expression passed from the serenity of sleep, through curious arousal and appreciative self-satisfaction to slight alarm at the situation. She flashed an alarmed stare at me while simultaneously holding her hand across her crotch and pressing my hand deeper into her.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

The passion had its own momentum, overcoming the gradient of apprehension, speeding forward to the crest of the rise. She closed her eyes, savoured the decadence, the indulgence of the moment. Amongst the strangers sat around us she came with muffled grunts of appreciation. Her body convulsed, restrained by invisible bonds of her own making to disguise her orgasm. Finally relaxing, eyes still, shut into a contented doze.

Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum.

I glanced across at the woman asleep across the walkway, facing us. Her eyes opened, not as one disturbed from slumber but with the presence of someone totally aware. She slowly licked her lips with the tip of a glistening tongue, slid her right hand to her left breast and squoze her clearly visible nipple through the cotton of her T-shirt. Her gaze never left me until she shut her eyes again a few moments later, a broad smile on her lips.